


Scenes of a Broken Heart

by KGirlred



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, F/M, One-Shots, Romance, Smut, Solavellan, canon-divergence, solavellan hell, welcome to my pool of tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KGirlred/pseuds/KGirlred
Summary: She was a lost soul and he was a well of sorrows, together they put themselves back together and tore each other apart.My one-shots of Dragon Age centered around Solas and Lavellan. Prepare for fluff, smut, and angst.





	1. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene is based just after the quest 'Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts' in Orlais.

The woman watches with a tilted head and curious eyes as the people dance and move with grace and ease across the marble floor. Dresses sweep and light chuckles fill the air, joining the tantalizing smells of perfume and sweets. She leans against the balustrade, a careful gesture of one slim hand resting over the other, conniving eyes watching each of her subtle movements. She’s wary of those eyes, knowing that many come from dark intent.

She is an Elven woman amongst a sea of ravenous Humans. They are all eager to watch her fall and will gladly titter behind gloved hands as she does.

The woman listens to each careful stroke of music, a soothing lullaby that fills the ornate ball room, mingling with the conversations that are held behind intricate masks. Of course, the woman refuses to wear one of the ridiculous masks. She has no reason to hide her identity, even if most are doing it for the intrigue of sex and gossip. The woman isn’t here for such things. She isn’t here to enjoy the spoils of war, instead she’s here to stop an assassination against an empress that may not even deserve to live. An empress that has committed atrocities. But then again, haven’t they all in this time of war and death?

Her mission is complete, she has been crowned a hero yet still there are those who would abuse the alliance she has found herself entangled in. It has always been beyond her how self-centred these people can be, yet her goal is to save them all, to lead this land from a civil war that could destroy everything. She feels the crushing weight of it against her chest every moment she draws breath.

She closes her eyes, letting the music sink into her bones. She’s a fighter, she’ll do what she must to save the people that rely on her. She’s not alone. The woman has to always remind herself of this small fact. She is not doing this alone, she is not fighting a battle with merely herself as a guide.

She cannot count the days that she wandered alone, no family to help her on her path. But she has created a new family, one that will not abandon her. One that has stood by her side and respected her decisions that have changed the way of this land.

A gentle hand is placed against her elbow and she looks up into familiar, smiling blue eyes. The reassuring gaze he gives her is an instant balm to her troubles and fears. A constant strength in her life. When he offers a dance with a small beckoning of gloved fingers, she can’t help but accept, drawn to the man like a child to the forbidden forest.

She slides her hand into his warm palm, absorbing his heat with a cautious smile as her pulse quickens and he leads her to the floor of dancers. There’s a calm grace to his steps that she can’t help but admire, a hidden strength ripples beneath his skin like the ferociousness of a wolf beneath soft fur. A soldier wearing a tailored coat and shined boots. She’s grown accustomed to seeing him gritty and dirty, with a streak of blood down his pale cheek and a dark glint in his eyes. This new side of him has her appreciating him more than she should in such dangerous times.

He guides her into his embrace and they fall into step together, a graceful dance that draws the attention of many. She keeps her eyes on him, his pleased face focused on her. There is always a sadness in his eyes, hidden in the deep blue of them, reminding her of stars trying to break through the night sky. The sadness is often shown in the slow trail of his fingers down her cheek before he withdraws, seemingly both physically and mentally.

He leans forward now, whispering a sweet endearment in her ear that curves her lips, content to stay in his arms for the rest of time, swaying to peaceful music with his heart thudding with hers.

“Sweet talker,” she murmurs quietly, aware that all have turned their attention to them. The leader dancing with one of her subjects. Blasphemous. To them. To people that don’t understand the concept of love or loyalty. The woman supposes she simply found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, found it in a time when she least expected it. Now she must pay the price for such a fate from judgmental people that she is trying with all of her might to save. But they matter little with him by her side.

He has secrets, he has an entire closet full of skeletons, an anger that swells beneath his skin. Secrets that she dares not touch for fear of that darkness within him. He is gentle and kind, intelligent and understanding. But his ease with death, his steady breaths in the heat of battle, startle her. He is ferocious when the need arises but his compassion continues to draw her closer to his flame. She often welcomes the burn when he turns those furious blues on her but quickly schools his features. Both man and woman are forces to be reckoned with, the only difference between them is that she refuses to stay hidden behind curtains of half-truths while he blankets himself in them.

Often times, she finds it easier to ignore the fears that circle within her about the man she loves. It’s easier to pretend that he’ll stay by her side as they dwindle into old age. Easier to believe that she’ll never be left alone again.

A blissful sense of calm settles over her as she rests her cheek against his chest, becoming oblivious to the whispers of those around them. This man with a weary soul and a kind heart is a soft hand that guides her through a storm and she grasps that hand with a deep desperation and passion. He is like no other in her life and she fills her heart willingly with him. Cupping her hands and drawing the sorrow from him as one would drink from a lake. She shares his burden, hoping that is enough to make him smile at her.

Hoping she’s enough for him.

Hoping that this heavenly dance they share never comes to an end.


	2. Aching Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the horrid break-up in Crestwood. Canon-divergence and smut ensue.

She walks into Skyhold with her chin held high and her heart leaving a shattered trail on the stone behind her. Too long she’s been away. Her advisors will never understand, no one possibly could. She’s not allowed to _feel_ , her emotions must be kept at arm’s length and never studied too deeply. But now she feels the overwhelming crush of the suppressed torment building inside of her, threatening to drag her into its dark depths and squeeze the air from her lungs.

She trails a cold finger over her brow, knowing the skin is now bare and knowing that is what everyone is staring at with bewildered gazes. A Dalish Elf without her Vallaslin. A blank canvas, the markings of her clan wiped away like they never were.

He took them away and replaced them with an aching sorrow.

She finds her way to her room, a shuddering breath leaving her as she closes the door gently, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself.

He walked away from her. He left her behind. She _knows_ in her blood, like she knows her own name, that he is hiding so much from her. She has always known but that night beneath the glow of the moon, she knew he came close to telling her but… but blurted something else instead. It was in his heavy gaze as he looked upon her and offered to take away the slave markings.

Her blood pounds in her ears as her steps quicken, fury clasping around her throat like a sharp wire until her breath is coming short. He treated her like she was a blind fool. All this talk of her intelligence and spirit, yet he tosses her aside like she was simply a child.

She stands in her room, a freezing wind nipping at her ears from the snowy mountains, the balcony doors thrown open. She clenches her fists, trembling with a deep rage, a rage she had tried to cool in her time away from Skyhold. It seems it did nothing.

She tips her head back, trying to draw in a steady breath, just one, that’s all she needs to gain her bearings and control her raging heart again.

The man has twisted her so much that she is confused of who she is anymore. She’s never allowed anyone to affect her so greatly, always in control, level-headed. It’s why she leads the Inquisition, why she is still alive when so many of her people have perished. But she found parts of herself in that man and now she can’t seem to separate herself from him.

A light knock on her door sends her eyes wide. She sucks in a breath, some hopeful and foolish part of her wanting it to be him. But she knows he wouldn’t seek her out, he made it blatantly clear that he was done with her.

She beckons for the person to enter and she’s partly deflated to see that it’s a servant. She barely hears the servant ask whether she requires anything and she finds herself requesting her to bring the man that has tossed her aside, to her rooms. The servant hesitates but disappears with a brief nod before the woman can revoke her request.

And suddenly her heart is beating wildly in her chest again.

In another world, he had told her. Why not this one? Why was this world not adequate for their love? It’s not as though she could choose, it’s not as though he had a choice either. But he’s choosing now, and it’s evidently not her.

She strolls to the balcony overlooking the land she continues to try and protect, wondering if it would all be easier to just let this damned world burn to ashes. Just like her clan. She couldn’t even save her own people, how is she going to save all of Thedas?

She clasps her hands behind her back, standing with the purpose of a leader because that is what she is, much to her initial dismay. _It’s for the best_ , she often had to tell herself. _No one else is willing to make the sacrifices you are_.

She studies the white capped mountains, knowing now the full extent that she will go to save this world. She has given up everything, absolutely everything. Apart from…

The door of her room opens and her shoulders stiffen, recognizing that quiet but purposeful stride.

… Him.

She expected him to refuse to come, hoped he’d deny her request so she wouldn’t have to look into those blue eyes again. The eyes that have tortured her beyond repair.

“Inquisitor,” he greets in his soft tone, using her title, placing another void of painful distance between them. She stays where she is, nails digging into calloused palms. She gazes out into the land, searching for some morsel of courage to unleash her rage upon him, to demand answers. But she can’t do that to the man. All he has gifted her with is gentleness and a reassuring presence when she finds herself lost in her own darkness. Her love for him overcomes any sort of hate that she harbours.

“I believed this conversation was best held behind closed doors,” she says, her voice quiet and devoid of any previous heat. He doesn’t answer, he rarely does. Always allowing her to finish and speak her mind before contemplating her words and giving her a weighty answer.

She turns her head slightly, dipping her chin, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. He’s mirrored her stance, hands clasped behind a straight back. Always the stoic figure. Many have not been privy to the times he’s truly relaxed, fallen asleep in the dulling heat of a bathtub with his head tipped back and lips slightly parted. Many have not witnessed his soft mutterings in the dead of night as his hand reaches out across cold sheets for the warmth of his lover. Many have not heard the gentle sigh he gives when his lover brushes tender lips to the tip of his pointed ear while he’s absorbed in his research.

She knows. She knows each painful part.

She draws in a deep breath, trying to find the words she wants to say to him. The hurt inside of her demands some sort of retribution. She doesn’t face him as she speaks her next words.

“It would help me if you could explain why,” she murmurs, a thumb trailing over a risen scar on her palm. She knows he’s picking his words carefully, not wanting to wound her further. But no matter what he says she knows that it’ll just cause her more pain. She doesn’t know whether she can continue forth with more weight upon her shoulders. “No,” she blurts out, turning to him with a steely gaze. “I’ve decided I don’t want your answers. You made your choice. Nothing either of us says is going to change it.” She feels her lower lip quiver but she turns her face away, not wanting him to see her weaknesses that have been spread out before her. “You can leave, I apologize for wasting your time.”

“Inquisitor,” he breathes, pain in his voice and she risks a glance, seeing the sorrow twist his features. “It was never my intent to hurt you—”

“Then what was your intent?” she snaps, her chest clenching at the sight of his own hurt. She’s always shouldered his burdens, taken that upon her because she cares. She wishes she wasn’t sharing them now. “You were always going to throw me aside, I know that now. Yet, I ran after you and you _let_ me.” He shakes his head, moving towards her, his eyes begging. For what, she doesn’t know, but she steps back, retreating to the balcony railing, unable to go any further. She lifts her hands between them as a barrier, just as he had done that night when she approached him. He stops moving, watching her hands tremble and the tears that blur her vision. She must protect what remains of herself. “Just go, Solas,” she whispers, her voice small and shaking, thick with tears.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he chokes and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block him out, to ignore the need to go to him and wrap him in her embrace, soothe his sorrows.

“You wanted this,” she says, trying to control her emotions. “You decided this was best and I trust you.” She opens her eyes, looking at him now and watches his posture crumble in the wake of her calm words. “Our mission comes before our relationship, now and forever.” A flash of remorse and guilt passes across his features and he watches her with tormented eyes. An understanding lingers in them. She is right, of course she is. She knows exactly what she has to sacrifice for her duty and her love for this man has often clouded her judgement.

He goes to her then and her hands stay limp at her sides now that they both know where they stand. It is over, whatever was between them is broken and neither will attempt to fix it because they can’t, because there are more important things at stake.

She feels the heat of his hands on her upper arms before the passionate caress of his lips steal her breath. It doesn’t shock her, she’s beyond being shocked by the actions of people at this stage in her life. Instead, she welcomes his embrace and clings to the soft fabric of his cream sweater, drawing him closer.

He’s fluid and quick in his motions of unbuttoning her tunic, kissing her with hunger and desperation. The man is starved and she opens herself willingly to him, urging him with a tilt of her hips against his and the flick of her tongue against his lower lip. He surrenders to her and their tongues tangle together, tasting and exploring.

He pushes the tunic from her shoulders, cold air caressing her heated skin and causing her to shiver violently. He draws back, both of them gasping for air, gazing at each other with a heady blend of lust and urgency. He grasps her hips and tugs her forward, stepping back into the shelter of her large bedroom. The bed seems too far away so she turns and shoves him against a bookshelf, startled by her own strength. Nothing matters beyond the heat curling low in her stomach, a mess of nerves and need. Their lips clash together again and she tears the sweater from his body, desperate to feel his skin. The jawbone necklace presses against her chest, biting into her skin.

His hands find their way back to her body as she traces the hard lines of his stomach. He pulls her tunic the rest of the way off and quickly whips away her breast-band until she’s completely bare to him. He deepens the kiss as needy hands brush over her sensitive breasts, teeth clashing and biting in a wild battle. She gasps his name as fingers find her nipples and suddenly his lips are gone from hers to latch onto the hard buds. Teeth causing flashes of pain and tongue soothing the hurt until he has her moaning beneath his attention, a puddle of pleasure in his hands.

She begs for him then, tugging with trembling fingers at the laces of his breeches, always wanting more but never having enough. He pulls away from his sweet lavishing, slanting his lips over hers and drawing her lower lip between his teeth as he shoves at the leggings that adorn her legs. They both squirm and struggle from their clothing, rasping breaths and stealing passionate kisses. He shifts their positions, pressing her back against the cool wood of the bookshelf and hoisting one of her legs over his hip, fingers digging into flesh, lips still seeking fervent kisses.

She wraps her legs around his hips, knowing he can take her weight with ease, one leg still tangled in her pants but she’s quick to forget the clothing as he guides himself to her heated core and doesn’t waste a single moment in burying himself deeply within her. They both moan together and he buries his face in her neck, biting her softly as she clenches around him. The moment is a dull relief before she begs him to move, frantic for her release.

He grips her backside and moves within her, drawing a breathy gasp from deep in her throat. The next time she cries out as he fills her to the brim. His swollen lips find hers and she’s eager to kiss him back, nails digging into his shoulders as he fills her again, developing a hard rhythm that has her moaning into his mouth.

She cries to the Gods, not caring which ones hear her. He swallows her cries, tongue sweeping into her mouth, filling her with his intoxicating taste, surrounding her in his alluring scent. Their passion builds, a raging storm, a rushing river, untameable, limitless, wild. He takes her with reckless abandon and she grasps everything he offers her. The man destroys her and completes her and everything in between and beyond.

She shouts his name as she finds her overwhelming release and he follows her through it all, muttering her name and incoherent words into her ear as he trails kisses down her neck, tasting the sweat and soap of her.

She falls limply against him, gasping for air as they take a bewildered moment to breathe. He eventually moves away from the bookshelf, carrying her flaccid body in his arms that coil with strength. She finds the soft mattress of her bed beneath her and she sighs contently as he slides onto the bed with her, pressing light kisses to her freckled shoulder. He pulls the blankets over them, cocooning them in warmth and safety. She nestles against him, allowing herself to close her eyes and pretend for a moment that they are together, happy, at peace.

She falls asleep with a small smile on her lips and his warmth around her. She dreams a lie, her mind filled with longing for the man that slips from her bed when the moon has risen and her breathing is heavy with sleep. She dreams of a life with the man that kisses her gently on her bare skin and leaves her in the middle of the night, guilt and regret weighing heavily on his shoulders for the pain he has caused the woman he loves with everything inside of him.

But what were the words she spoke? _Our mission comes before our relationship, now and forever_. The blue-eyed man knows that the woman he loves is more right than even she knows.

So, he leaves, and he looks back at her beautiful body bathed in moonlight, and abandons his heart in her capable hands.


	3. Despite it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after the defeat of Corypheaus and the breaking of the orb. Short, angsty thoughts ensue.

His pained words echo in her head as she descends the crumbling staircase like the tick of a damning clock. The finality that was in his voice sets her heart throbbing and she can’t seem to keep the hurt from her eyes whilst smiling mildly at the people before her. The people who have stood by her side through it all. Through the death of her clan and the decaying of her hope, through pain and torment, the heartbreak and the desperation. They have stood by her but they have never understood her. There is only one man that has been able to make sense of the looming darkness in her mind and she just turned her back on him as he knelt before his destroyed prize.

She feels his gaze on her as she addresses her trusted allies but doesn’t turn. She doesn’t have the luxury anymore to face him and smile, welcoming him into her heart. He’s a cold stone, his eyes set ahead and away from her. He has let her go and she is still trying to do the same, trying to cut away the ties that tangle around her with a blunted knife. Often it feels as though she is simply thrusting the blade into her chest, hoping to dull the endless pain that resides there.

He made his choice and she must accept that.

So, she adorns herself in bravery and reassurance, even as his quiet footsteps retreat, even as she’s painfully aware of his departure. They have won, defeated the foe that threatened all of Thedas but many do not know the true cost.

She comes to the full realisation of that cost as she stands on her balcony that night, loose, golden hair tugged by a freezing breeze, a wind that carries the sounds of laughter. Laughter she does not share for he is not here. 

The woman gazes to the mountains beyond, searching for her answers amongst the snowy depths. A woman without her heart, her lover, her most trusted companion. She stands alone even with the cacophony of people in the great hall below her. She has never felt so broken in her entire life.

He promised her answers, she never demanded them of him but perhaps she should have. She truly doesn’t know what she expected of him. Perhaps for him to be waiting in her room with a solemn expression and the tale she needs to finally move past this devastating love she has for him. 

Fanciful dreams of a foolish girl.

She lets out a breath, fogging the air before her and standing straighter, watching the wispy mist fade into the air. No matter what she is – broken hearted, lonely, sorrowful, disgraced Elf – she is still the Inquisitor and her duty comes before anything else. Before her love and before her anger.

She watches the sun set, the orange haze disappearing behind the peaks of the mountains, setting an end to this painful day. She looks towards the future and hopes with all her shattered heart that something new and beautiful will bloom from this horror. Perhaps the bloom will not reach her but… she hopes it reaches someone and she hopes that he is happy, despite it all.


	4. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, here comes Trespasser. The ending of the Trespasser DLC where Solas leaves. Angst, all the angst.

The woman reaches for his retreating back, trembling fingers grasping at empty air where the man once kneeled before her with cruel pity shining in his eyes. A soft whimper leaves her lips, scarcely a noise against the raging cacophony that echoes in her ears, the noise solely in her broken mind, a noise filled with hollow pain. His attention doesn’t return to her, set exclusively on his goal ahead like a soldier marching willingly into a war. His sure steps leave her in the past like she never mattered, disappearing forever. A ghost, that’s all he could have been. A ghost that plagued her dreams and waking thoughts. She could almost convince herself that this entire nightmare was a figment of her imagination, drawn from her desperate longing for the man that destroyed her.

The pain that shoots up her arm is hardly noticeable against the searing torment that shreds at her heart. Once again she’s left behind. Alone. Confused. Filled with grief and a horrifying need to chase the man, to wrap her fingers around his pale throat and squeeze until he’s nothing beneath her. Like he has made her nothing.

She curls her body, trying to hold herself together, fearing that she may break apart, shatter to pieces like her heart. _Vhenan_. The endearment is like a knife in her back, twisting, digging deep, a serrated edge tearing through her like the jaws of a wolf.

Gone. Gone like he never was. Like she conjured their love and their tender moments from the ruined pieces of her mind. Their lust, their anger, their hate, their passion. Simply lost to the wind like a golden and wilting leaf in autumn.

Cold betrayal, as cold as steel, a dagger gripped in a bloody palm, forced to hold the cutting edge and demanded to deal with the wound that it leaves behind.

Blinded love, a warmth that grew too hot, that seared flesh with soft lips and gentle hands, that bruised black and blue, that gave a gasp and a moan that stole those noises with a hungry smirk.

She feels it all too strongly, overwhelming, a tidal wave of memories and emotions. Drowning her. Consuming her. The pain is too much for a lone soul to bear. She cannot possibly survive.

A part of her leaves with him, was lost long ago when she first saw those lively blue eyes, when the crinkles first formed on his face as he smiled softly at her. A ray of sunlight, of gentleness and strength amongst a gloomy forest filled with dark thoughts and watchful eyes in the shadows. He stole her love like a thief in the cold embrace of night. Crept upon her and, with warm, loving fingers, drew forth her care and grinned like a wolf as he stalked away with it.

He’s the only one that can complete the shattered pieces within her but now he’s gone. Gone. Gone. Again. Smoke taken by a gentle breeze before a raging storm.

The woman lays in the dirt and the grass, feeling cold air seep into her weary bones, sink deep into her quivering heart and nestle there like a child seeking sweet shelter, but she is too cracked to offer much warmth. She stares blankly at the sprouting flowers, watch the colour fade from them, watch with faraway eyes and a tired sigh.

She simply watches and waits, nothing to this world, barely a scrap of the powerful woman she once was. The woman before he quenched her thirst with love and care, before he fed the dying woman like she was a stray cat pestering him at his doorstep.

She waits for him to come back to her though she knows with every morsel of her torn soul that he will not. He has abandoned her, leaving behind only tender words and a deep ache.

All she can think in her muddled mind as her eyes slide closed is that their love will _not_ endure. Her love will, it will follow her like her own shadow but he will forget her, he will move on as though she never existed. She was not important enough to him, simply a casual dalliance in the desperation of war. She was not strong enough to hold onto a man such as him.


	5. Fate's Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tresspasser.

She wanders through the stark trees, the leaves and grass too bright for her tired eyes. The moon shines radiantly, too lively for it to be natural. She knows in her heart that it’s not natural, that it can’t be. She remembers resting her tear stained face on her pillow, willing the exhausting day to end, willing the silence away. She remembers that, yet she still tries to fool herself into thinking that the forest she currently walks through is real. That the hand she feels brushing against bark is her own.

It's a game she always finds herself playing. What is reality?

She sees him standing by that foreign lake where he usually is each time she enters the Fade and finds herself in this place. Is he real or is he not? The game is on a constant loop and no one wins. She never wins.

She walks, bare feet sinking into soft ground, a cold breeze sliding over unadorned legs. She approaches him, his head bowed in deep thought, hands clasped at his lower back. He doesn’t turn but the stiffening of his shoulders shows that he knows she’s there, carefully moving towards him.

She stops a distance away, her breath shallow, her heart aching. She knows how this ends, knows what happens but still she reaches for him, unable to control the way she is forever drawn to the man.

Just before her fingers brush the fur draped over his shoulder, the dream shifts and he’s gone, leaving her alone in the woods and suddenly the looming trees aren’t so welcoming. Her heart quickens and she looks around her with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like a halla being surrounded by blood-thirsty wolves. But that voice is there, reaching from the darkness and embracing her.

“Wake up, _Vhenan_.” And, with a small whimper, she does.

She bolts upright in her bed, sweat gleaming on her chest and the shadows shift before her, cloaking the presence of the man who had whispered in her ear. He’s gone before she can truly grasp his presence, breathing quickly with pained gasps.

He torments her, continuing to lead her into the darkness she desperately tries to crawl from, keeping her on the edge of madness. He knows she’s in despair yet he hangs a treat before her eyes and snatches it away before she can bite into it.

She desperately needs their encounters but also wishes he would simply disappear, cease to exist and allow her to continue her miserable life on her own, without the man she loves.

But he won’t leave her alone because he needs her presence just as much as she needs his. There is an endless void between them, yet they cannot breach it. They are from different worlds, different walks of life yet they clashed like stars and have not been able to separate their souls.

So, they linger between worlds, in a plain of heartache and longing. Never truly being together but never able to distance themselves. A tortuous entanglement of two lovers forced apart by fate’s cruelty.


	6. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scout Harding observes the fallen Inquisitor.

The horse tosses her head with a loud snort, her hot breath fogging the air. The rider digs leather boots into the horse’s flanks, urging the beast through the mud and the looming trees, water spraying from its leaves as the sheets of rain continue to bombard overhead. The rider slumps lower in the saddle, drawing a sodden cloak over drooping shoulders. Thunder crackles through the sky, causing the horse to snort and stamp its hooves again. The rider sighs, a numb hand gripping wet, leather reigns.

The horse sloshes through murky puddles, darkness a cold embrace around the figures. A detached eye searches in the darkness for the distant glow of a lamp, spotting the camp through the thick trees. The rider hurries the horse along, squinting through the dense fog.

They come upon the first tent that trembles in the wind and the rider slides from horseback, cloak swaying around ankles, thick rivets of water streaming from the fabric. A scout approaches the rider, looking up into the shadowed face and quickly recognizing the faraway gaze and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Herald,” the scout greets, taking the horse’s reigns from the rider’s hand, glancing briefly at the arm concealed by the cloak, before leading the beast away. The rider walks into the dreary camp, disregarding the people that watch each purposeful step. The rider pays no mind to the people that follow the doomed cause. “Herald,” the scout murmurs again once she’s caught up with the rider, following like all others. The rider gives the scout a quick glance and the scout knows she’s caught the attention she needs. “Did you find the tracks?”

A small flutter in the rider’s jaw in answer and the scout knows that the journey was not successful. Again. The scout wipes the water from her face as they step into a candlelit tent, leaving the rain and the wind behind them as another rumble of thunder assaults the skies.

“How can I be of service?” the scout asks tentatively, shivering in her furs and leathers. The rider looks upon a desk filled with papers and books, trailing a finger along a curved blade that resides amongst the clutter. The matching blade leans against the table but the rider has not wielded them for a long while.

“Send your men back home,” the rider says, voice soft but heavy, filled with raw emotion. Filled with anger.

“Herald?” the scout questions, blinking in surprise. They have been camped in this cursed land for weeks now, have been searching the ravaged terrain for the man that destroyed everything, for months.

“You heard me, scout,” the rider articulates, pulling the soaked hood down to reveal her pained face. “There is nothing for you here.” The scout studies the deep scar that cuts across one of her eyes, a leather patch covering the mess it made of the eye itself. It’s not the only injury the hardy woman sustained from the war three years past.

“What of you?” the scout questions, watching as she drops her cloak to the ground and rubs her arm. The scout swallows at the sight of the partly missing limb, wary of what she once was with it and the woman she is now without it. The scout is not certain which woman she is terrified of more.

“I’ll continue alone, limit our presence in this place.” Her silvery gaze becomes distant. “He won’t know where to hide if he doesn’t know where I am.”

“It’s unsafe, Herald,” the scout protests, stepping forward and wringing her gloved hands as the woman regards her with a sharp eye. That gaze can make even the most resilient men quiver in their boots and the scout feels herself begin to quiver.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, scout. I’m telling you that your mission is over. Go home, back to your family. Be relieved.” The scout’s brows furrow and she tries to find the words to protest further. For years she has followed this woman, leading so many of her missions into the wilds, deserts, mountains, she can’t even remember the life she had before the war. But to leave her alone now, when she is no longer a mighty leader that rose from the ashes of her burned clan, who took up the mantle of Herald when people swore they had seen her die, it would be like cutting off her own limb.

The scout’s eyes travel back to the stump of the woman’s arm, taken by the man who had betrayed her and destroyed all she had built, the man she had once called a lover when she didn’t know his malevolent plans. Then to the patch over her eye, taken by another man who had betrayed her but who she had cut down an instant later.

“Wipe that pity off your face, scout,” the woman all but snarls, turning away as her lip curls. The scout’s eyes travel to her muddy boots and lets out a heavy breath.

“I’ve been tasked these past three years to protect you, Herald,” the scout speaks as the woman leans against her desk, eye scouring the words that blur to her vision. “You cannot ask me to abandon my post when our work is not yet done.”

“I’m not asking, scout,” she says, her voice that of a leader, and one who has spent many, many years fighting. “I’m commanding.” She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say anything more as she settles herself into her wooden chair and hunches over a book, thumbing through the pages. The scout stays where she is for a long moment, watching how the candles brighten her already golden hair. She stays, not certain where to go. She was nothing before the Herald took her in, gave her a position and a purpose. Now she’s expected to pretend like this person never had an impact on her life. This woman changed the world, changed _everything_. The scout not only feels duty bound to her but she cares about the woman, thinks of her as a close friend.

She recalls the many hours spent around fires in their various camps, the laughs shared over mugs of ale, the dreams and aspirations they shouted to the stars, demanding the gods to hear their songs and wishes. But all of that is gone now, it is like the woman simply can’t remember the happiness she once had with the people around her in the midst of war. It’s like all she remembers is the betrayal, the lies, the pain that she had to fight through and is still fighting through. Her weary gaze is set solely on the man she once loved, on finding him and destroying his plans. Sometimes the scout wonders if she still loves the man and if that is the only thing fuelling her forward.

For a woman who has lost absolutely everything, she is bent on finding the man who took it all.

Thunder shudders through the air and the scout jumps slightly, the boom of it echoing in her bones and shaking her from her thoughts. With one last lingering look at the woman who had saved the world and is still bent on saving it while no others are, she leaves, stepping into the torrential pour. She leaves the cold glow of the tent and moves to her own, heaving a breath that weighs heavier than a sack of stones.


End file.
